By Any Other Name
by TragischerRomantiker
Summary: What's in a name? That which we call a Rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Roses have Thorns, and silver fountains mud; clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, and loathsome canker lies in sweetest bud. All men make faults.


**Hello, everyone. First, my very first fanfiction on this site was a Gargoyles fanfic back in 2007. It was removed loooong ago when I realized it wasn't any good, haha. Now I have remodeled it after several years and made it FAR better than it has ever been. With this fanfiction I hope to touch upon each of Greg Weisman's spin-off series and provide insight into a link between them all. This is a CANON fanfiction, however non-canon elements will be present. With that, please enjoy! **

**Happy reading!**

**~TragischerRomantiker**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Divided<strong>

His companion's ear twitched, and the great mane turned toward the forest. The Phoenix had deposited them outside some sort of mansion. Brooklyn watched the beast become very anxious, as if he wanted to go in search of what disturbed him so. A light blue gargress in a sunshine kimono rested her claw on Brooklyn's shoulder. The words were spoken softly through her beak, "In all our travels together I have not yet seen Fu-dog so readily on edge as he is now. Perhaps it would be best for us to go—how is it you say, investigate?"

Brooklyn nodded. "You're right. Lead the way, Fu."

With his master's permission, the gargoyle beast sprinted away into the cedar and oak. Brooklyn offered the gargress a claw and gave her a leg-up into the sky. He was quick to climb a tree to raise himself into the air as well. The two gargoyles trailed their wingless companion on the ground. Brooklyn's brow furrowed. He had lost sight of the hound. His second companion pointed to the ground. "I see him. Should we find a place to land?"

"Probably," He could see a clearing nearby that would be suitable for both of their wingspans, "over there."

They veered in the direction of the clearing, making a relatively smooth landing. Brooklyn pushed aside a tree branch and allowed his female companion to go ahead of him. She gasped at the gargoyle beast's findings. "Katana, what is it?"

She moved over to the riverside where Fu-dog was waiting patiently. "Look." she whispered, sitting at the base of an old oak tree.

Brooklyn's eyes widened at the sight of two gargoyle eggs left unattended—one of which was beginning to hatch. He rubbed a claw over his face, where was the clan that these belonged to? He could hear the crackling of the shell and he watched in awe. He knew only that to leave gargoyle eggs abandoned was a sign that there was something terribly wrong, but what would he and Katana do with these hatchlings? He supposed there was always the option of raising them, but he preferred to find a way to keep them in their own era.

A fierce growl emanated from the mouth of the little one whose spotted shell had burst into a million pieces. The white hide contrasted vibrantly to the darkness making the newly-hatched female an easy target for any predators. With unsteady legs she attempted to take a step forward, resulting only in her rolling away from the remains of her egg and into Katana's lap. Katana removed the satchel from her back to see if she had anything she could clothe the little monster in. "I will put something on her, but she will still need a name."

"We can't name her!" Brooklyn retorted, "if we name her we'll get attached!"

"And what is so wrong with that?"

He exhaled a large breath. "Hatchlings are a _big_ responsibility, and we keep timedancing. It's not safe! What if both of them—what if _one_ of them gets left behind somewhere! We'll never forgive ourselves! Besides," he paused, "we're going to have enough trouble with our own hatchling."

Katana chuckled with mirth, "Brooklyn we are not going to have a hatchling for over a _decade_."

"But we _will_ have an egg in the next few months." Her mate stated, gruffly crossing his arms.

She knew it would not be wise to bring these two hatchlings with them in their timedance. However, she could not think of what else they could do with them. "Well, then what would you have us do, Brooklyn? Leave them here?"

"In this era, yes. We'll try to find someone to take them in, even if it's a human family."

Katana wound a fabric around the young hatchling and pinned it together. "I am a firm believer of the gargoyle traditions—I will not pretend I am not bothered that these young ones will not have the usual gargoyle upbringing. Still, if _we_ do not name them, the humans will. If there is one thing we can give to them, let it be that. Humans are rarely generous in that way."

He watched Katana modify her satchel so that she may carry the egg that still lay at the base of the tree. Brooklyn hadn't recognized the young hatchling's face immediately because he would not formally meet her for another thirty-five years or so. However, taking a second look at her, he now identified her as someone who would become an invaluable ally and friend to him in—what was his _past_—her future. This gargress already had a name, and it was one that brought him great sadness, "Thorn."

Katana perked a brow. She, perhaps unwisely, chose to ignore the quiver in her mate's voice. Katana could tell there was a connection here that she had somehow overlooked, but she could not allow herself to succumb to whatever ill-tempered fate was tempting her. This _Thorn_ was defenseless as a hatchling and had done naught to earn her dislike—or her favor, for that matter. Katana knew only that she was in need of help, and that, Katana would offer her. If ever there would be a time that Thorn no longer deserved such luxuries, Katana would be sure to retract said offer. Until then, whatever past Brooklyn shared with Thorn was best left unsaid. She was sure if it was important she would hear about it in due time.

"I take it you have a name for this one as well?" Katana asked, motioning to the egg comfortably nestled in her satchel.

He nodded with a slight grimace, "Rose."

"How predictable," she commented.

Brooklyn furrowed his brow. He would never have guessed he had been the one to set up Thorn's future, but time was irreversible and everything would happen because of his decision to leave Thorn in this era. Even if he consciously was able to warp the timestream to bring Thorn with him, it would not bode well—events in time were static. In his travels, Brooklyn had found that things will always happen in a set sequence of events. If he was here, it was because he was _meant_ to be here. Perhaps a future Brooklyn would leave those eggs there for his younger self to find? Though Brooklyn dreaded thinking of how much longer he would continue this timedance.

The next they met would be the first they met—of that Brooklyn was certain.

* * *

><p>The night was beautiful, indeed, yet behind such beauty a demon was lying in wait; a fiery creature born of sorrow and flame come only to eat the flesh of man. One would think that she should not fear it, then, since she was neither human nor man. Some, perhaps, even considered <em>her<em> a demon. But she was no demon, the demon was the hate that had torn brothers—and sisters—apart: war. She sighed on the balcony, taking another glance at the stars hanging in the eternal balance before retreating back inside where her master and mistress awaited her return.

"Ah, my belle of the ball. Come, greet our guests my pet."

Thorn obliged with a light curtsey to the well-endowed humans of the high-society. "Good evening."

Many exclaims of intrigue and astonishment surrounded her. She had always been regarded as a show piece worth a good conversation. Her owners treated her well, though—better than they treated their servants, anyway. Thorn excused herself and headed toward the kitchens where she knew her young charge would be hiding. She was greeted by the always-friendly faces of the dark-skinned humans. They had always welcomed her as one of their own, though she was neither human nor a servant. Jaboli was the eldest among the kitchen hands—and the one who had been in the service of the Roaugh plantation the longest. She remembered the day Thorn had been brought to the plantation; the day she had been given the difficult task of raising the strange creature.

"Jaboli, have you seen Mistress Finnchoem? The witching hour draws near; I will not have it said I have been slack in my responsibilities over her."

"I have not, Milady. Though these old eyes of mine don't see much these days."

"You have my thanks all the same."

"Too kind you are, Milady."

Thorn left the old woman to her potato peelings. She made her way toward the courtyard at the front of the mansion. If she had to, she would visit the slave houses, but she would need the permission of her master in order to go there. Thorn strode gracefully across the lawn in search of her charge. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she caught sight of the young woman at the edge of the courtyard. "What ails you, Lady Finnchoem?"

The girl turned around to meet the eyes of her gargoyle companion. Judging by her terse demeanor and austere expression, Thorn sensed that she was feeling uneasy over something. "Though you are young as I in appearance, I acknowledge you have more wisdom than I when it comes to matters of heart and battle."

The gargoyle fussed with her overbearingly large hoop skirt before stepping toward her charge. "Of what matters do you speak? I would seek to settle any doubts or fears that might haunt you, Mistress."

Finnchoem was grateful for the kind words of her gargoyle friend, but soothing words would likely not help to calm her worries. She had long been watching the town in the distance—too long. Sometimes she wondered if their offense would be enough to keep the Union soldiers occupied, but she highly doubted it. This was the deep south—slave country—those yankee pests were sure to swarm here like bees to honey if they managed to win the night. It was still early in the war, but it was a war nonetheless and Finnchoem was unsure what the outcome would eventually be. "I wish you to Brigade General Forrest. My love was conscripted into his calvary." She thought on her words a moment, "Return him safely to me and I will grant you your freedom."

Thorn could not shake herself of the thought that if she left the plantation her best friend would be at the mercy of the Union soldiers occupying the distant town. Thorn was loyal first and foremost to the Roaugh family and their abundance of slave-working-property. "Give the freedom you would have for me to Jaboli. I will not fail you, Young Mistress Finnchoem."

"You would—give away your freedom to a _slave_? An _old_ slave?" She was astonished by her friend's words.

"Of course. She has earned her reward, don't you think?"

The lady pondered the thought a moment, almost as if she were tasting the idea with her mind. "Very well. Jaboli has her freedom so long as I have my love. I prithee well on your quest, my dearest friend. You are the only one I trust with this terrible task—and for that I am truly sorry."

"The kitchen maid Jaboli has often told me a gargoyle's sole purpose for existence is to protect."

Finnchoem nodded. "Then I ask only that you fulfill your purpose. Protect Amérgin."

Thorn curtsied to her mistress and as she made to leave found herself caught in a tight hug from her young friend. The gargress did not know how she was supposed to protect a man on the front of battle, but she knew that she had to try. She gently removed the woman's hands and moved to the base of the lawn. Thorn often rested her wings on her shoulders to act as, not a cloak, a cape. Her two-toned brown, cape-like wings trailed behind her gracefully as she approached the family carriage. The footman opened the door, offering the gargress a helping hand into the body of the vehicle. She recited her destination to the driver prior to entering the stagecoach. She made herself comfortable, knowing that the trip ahead of her would be her last opportunity for such luxuries.

* * *

><p>Brooklyn staggered mid-flight as he and Fu-dog were thrown from the mouth of the phoenix into another unfamiliar land. He listened to Fu-dog whimper. Obviously the beast's keen senses were picking up a reason to worry. The red gargoyle grumbled a little, muttering to himself about the weight of his companion. He could see the trail on the mountain below and sought to land there, for fear his arms would not carry the beast much longer.<p>

He glided low to the ground, dropping the beast when he knew it was safe for him. As he continued forward, preparing to make his landing, he heard a horse whinny in fear. Brooklyn didn't even see the horse, where was it?

"Ahh! A monster!"

The beaked gargoyle narrowly missed crashing into a classy stagecoach. However, his presence had scared the two footmen from their rumble and caused the coachman to abandon the reins. Brooklyn quietly hoped no one had been inside of that out-of-control buggy. Naturally, those hopes were dashed when he heard a woman's shriek.

Thorn had cried out realizing she was riding in a coach without a driver. She didn't know what was going on—all three of her escorts had disappeared. Was the carriage under attack? It seemed possible, but she had heard no gunshots. Either way, she had to get those horses under control. Thorn tried to squeeze herself out of the side quarterling, but found her skirt was too big. She tore through the skirt and its underlying cage with her claws as though it had been crafted from butter. Thorn felt no remorse over the loss of the weight on her hips; she had never liked those hoop skirts anyway—they were extremely gaudy.

She climbed onto the roof and then navigated herself onto the driver's perch. Thorn wasn't sure if she would be able to reach the reins or not, but it was important she did so that the horses didn't trip on them. However, Thorn was not keen on getting kicked in the head by a hoof, either. Her eyes glowed violet in her frustration and she let out an aggrivated snarl, slashing the leather straps holding the horses to the shaft. The horses, freed from the carriage, galloped away into the darkness leaving the carriage immobile. Thorn, short of breath from the excitement, sat for a moment on the lop-sided carriage to regain her composure.

How was she to get to the Confederate camps now? Without a carriage and horses she had no means of transportation. Thorn sighed. She supposed she would have to walk from here—perhaps run. It was likely she would not make it in time. She was startled by the sight of a beaked being with wings beside her. It held up its hand in greeting. "Hi there."

Thorn backed away. What was this—_creature_? A greenish hound-like monster with a lion's mane growled lightly at Thorn's reaction. She couldn't believe that this _demon_ had a pet, too! Even in her panic Thorn still noticed similarities between this strange being and herself. She looked him over once again. He had calmed his dog-like beast by resting a claw on its head. "Don't worry, Fu-dog won't hurt you."

"What _are_ you?" Thorn asked, still a little apprehensive of the stranger.

"I'm a gargoyle, like you." He responded.

"Like me?" She wasn't convinced, but didn't feel like arguing the matter further, "Hmph. Do you often travel barren chest and in your ratty drawers?"

Brooklyn raised a brow. What was wrong with what he was wearing? No one had ever had a problem with it before. What time was he in, anyway? "I didn't know I wasn't properly dressed for—uh—this year."

She snarled at him, her violet glowing eyes sending a chill up his spine. What did he say? She looked so angry. "You're one of _them_!" She accused, "You have that _yankee_ _accent_ about you!"

"Yankee accent?" Brooklyn was confused for a moment before the realization settled in, "Oh, _hell_ no. Damn phoenix drafted me into the civil war!"

The eyes of the raven-haired gargress dimmed and her serene aura was restored. Thorn couldn't help but feel the yank was totally lost. Had he been living under a rock for the past ten years? In all honesty, it wouldn't have surprised her if he did—what with his primitive clothes and all. She gasped covering her pantalettes and petty coat in horror. It hadn't been until that moment that she had realized she was not decent.

Brooklyn raised a brow, "Are you okay?"

"Away from me pervert! How dare you even look at me when I am not proper!" She attempted to cover her shame with her wings.

The very confused northerner scratched his head. "I'm not sure what just happened, but I'm—sorry? In all seriousness, it just looks like a skirt to me."

There was silence between them and Thorn couldn't decided whether or not he was telling the truth. She didn't particularly like to be taken for a fool, but coming from a heathen she supposed her undergarments _would_ just look like a plain white skirt. She decided to accept his apology and explanation. Thorn took a few steps toward the strangers reluctantly. "Well, you got me into this mess, you are now responsible for getting me out of it. I need to be at the Confederate camps by tomorrow's eve."

"Riiight—and those are where, again?"

"Four hills over."

Brooklyn glaced at the moon for good measure. He was sure there would be enough wind currents to get them there by tomorrow. "Then I will escort you there."

"How? What chariot have you?"

"Who needs a chariot when you have wings?" He chuckled.

A perplexed expression befell the young gargress's face. Brooklyn noticed this and elaborated, "You know, your wings." He motioned to her cape, "To _glide_?"

"I can not _glide_ with these!" She adamantly retorted.

He smiled at her, "Yes, you can."

Thorn could not find her voice to fire back a response. She had never used her wings before. She had always known what they were, and on the occasions she had attempted to ue them to fly she had found herself greatly unsuccessful—but to _glide_? Perhaps there was truth in this gargoyle stranger's words. "Do you have a name?"

"Brooklyn," he petted his beast's head affectionately, "and this is Fu-Dog. We're travelers."

She nodded, and gave him a light curtsey, "I am Thorn. It is a plasure to finally meet another of my race."

"Wait, you don't have a clan?" He asked in disbelief.

It was extremely unusual for a gargoyle to leave their clan. Moreso for one to be completely without a clan. It was, in a sense, the gargoyle way to be part of a unit. If Thorn had been raised without it, how could she possibly know the traditions of the gargoyles—instinct, maybe? Thorn regarded him with sad eyes, "I had a rookery sister once, but never a clan. My sister and I were raised on a human plantation. We were—property—to them, high-end property. She was sold to an annonymous buyer and was sent away during her stone sleep. I have been alone ever since and I do not know what fate she faced."

Brooklyn worried about Broadway and Angela back at home. He had left them rather abruptly, and not by choice either. He could only think that his rookery brother must be feel what Thorn feels for her rookery sibling. Brooklyn _had_ to get home. He just _had_ to. However, he knew that the only way to do that would be to finish out the tasks the phoenix had for him. "Well, then let's jet."

"Jet?"

"Go." He clarified, forgetting that slang would not be invented for another hundred years.

* * *

><p>His mare was swift in her canter to the heart of the camp. Relaying messages between the camps was imperative—the information he had was invaluable. He was greeted by a lieutenant upon his arrival into the east camp. His horse breathed heavily and the officer asked him a series of questions before permitting him entrance. Amérgin dismounted his steed and with hurried steps headed for the general's tent. He pushed aside the canvas with urgency. At the moment, Forrest was alone in his tent. "Sir, I bring news from the camp west."<p>

General Forrest nodded, "Ah, yes. I have been waiting for you, Dugan."

Amérgin recited the message to the general regarding the arrival of the rest of their soldiers. He wasn't sure if Forrest was displeased or not at the information he had brought him—the general was always so serious and difficult to read. There was silence in the tent for a moment before Amérgin added, "Sir, there have also been some strange reports regarding the Union's defense."

"Strange?" The general raised a thick brunette eyebrow, "Strange how?"

"Well, there's been talk among the men about—" Amérgin almost wondered if these reports were even worth relaying to the general.

"About what, Dugan, spit it out."

"Monsters, Sir. The rumors suggest the Union has been using monsters to fight their battles."

The general laughed, "Monsters? The only monsters on these fields are the ones in our own hearts. The men are tired, Dugan. I wager you are as well. Get some rest, Boy. We have a long battle ahead of us."

The two saluted each other and Amérgin took his leave. The moment he stepped out of the tent he heard a plethora of outcries. He could hear various voices calling for riflemen and waking the soldiers who had been sleeping. Someone had apparently taken the rumor of monsters a little too seriously. Here he was, a man of eighteen years, screaming like a wee girl at the sight of three creatures who had fallen from the sky and landed before him. They were quick to move him aside and enter the general's tent. Calls rang out for those who bore armaments to hold their fire. No one wanted to accidentally shoot their general—they needed him to lead them into the coming battle.

The minutes passed by slowly. They had heard no screams of terror, no sounds of struggle—nothing. The soldiers had their guns pointed at the tent, prepared to shoot at any moment. The whispers around Amérgin questioned whether or not General Forrest was even still alive. His mouth was dry and his breathing had become increased with the knowledge of what he was about to do, but he knew someone had to do it. The immigrant stepped closer to the tent, signaling the other soldiers that he was going to go inside and find out what was going on.

As Amérgin entered he found the general seated in his chair, going over battle tactics with the three beasts. He didn't look at all phased by the presence of the creatures. He smiled at the boy. "Come in, Dugan. You're just the man I wanted to see."

"S-sir?" he managed to squeak.

"I have spoken with these creatures about the threat of monsters who have sided themselves with the Union. It is probable that, like these three, the monsters you spoke of to me earlier were gargoyles. This is Thorn, Fu-dog, and Brooklyn," he motioned to each one as he introduced them, "they have agreed to ally themselves with us. I want you to act as their guide and host while they are here with us. Do you think you can do that?"

Amérgin scratched his head. He wasn't sure if he could take this much stress. "I-I, well, I guess—"

"Good, then I task you with leading them."

The young man wasn't sure that he was ready to take on such responsibilities, but he would do his best—he did not want to fail the general. Suddenly, he recalled his purpose for entering the tent in the first place. "Uh, Sir, the men are outside the tent prepared to strike at—er—our new allies."

"I will call them off. Why don't you all—get acquainted—while I get the lady something suitable to wear, hm?" As soon as Forrest exited the tent, he began to issue orders, "At ease, Men."

Amérgin suddenly felt very alone and very vulnerable in the little tent. The female startled him with her cool voice, "You have heard our names, now what is yours?"

He had trouble finding his voice at first, but was eventually able to answer her properly, "Amérgin Lysander Dugan. Second son of Tuomas MacCaern Dugan and first generation American." He paused, "With all due respect—what are you creatures?"

Thorn shrugged, "Gargoyles."

"Gargoyles," The word came out in a breath of air, "in Ireland my da' used to tell me stories 'bout an ol' clan on the cliffs of Armagh."

"There are gargoyles in Ireland?" Brooklyn asked, excited at the prospect of other clans in the world.

The young soldier's head swayed from side to side. "If there ever was a clan in Armagh it's long been extinct. Though, until today, I didn't even think gargoyles existed, so—maybe?" He was still recovering from the shock of the gargoyles' existence. "So, how do you plan to make a difference in the war? What skills do you offer the Confederacy?"

Brooklyn took a couple steps toward the Irishman. "Your general told us about the possibility of more gargoyles fighting on the Union's front. If he attacks Murfreesboro at dawn, your men won't have to worry about gargoyles attacking them from above. We figure if your forces can stave off a Union victory until dusk, the three of us can come in as your secret weapons."

"What makes you think the Union won't be using their gargoyles after dawn?"

"At sunrise gargoyles turn to stone. If the monsters are gargoyles then you won't be attacked during the day and if the Union plans to use them as a secret weapon at night, then their plan will be futile."

"What if we're not fighting against gargoyles?"

"Then it won't be much of a fight after dusk."

"Meanwhile our men will be dying!"

Brooklyn gave the boy an apologetic look, "That's what happens in war."

Amérgin could accept that—afterall, it was true. These gargoyles were proving to be very interesting creatures. He noticed the female seemed a bit distracted. Amérgin furrowed his brow, "Is there something you wish to say, Lady Thorn?"

"Actually, yes. I was sent here by my Mistress, Lady Finnchoem of the Roaugh family," Thorn admitted, "I'm sure you can imagine why."

Their new friend smiled to himself as though Thorn had told him some sort of unspoken joke. It was at that moment that the general reappeared. He had known that there would not be any dresses available for her to wear, but he had been sure someone could spare a pair of extra pants for the lady—though their resources were already very limited. The men turned their backs while she changed. Thorn had to modify the military pants to allow for the spike on each of her knees and for her tail. When she had finished, the general saluted the gargoyles respectfully. "With your help, this day will be a victory at Murfreesboro and we will take control of the Union's supply center."

As the three stood at attention—Thorn and Brooklyn saluting—the sun rose.

* * *

><p>Her fierce, cat-like roar echoed over the hills as she woke from her stone sleep. The multi-hue sky was painted in a thick layer of smoke and the sounds of battle engulfed her. Rage overcame her and she snapped open her beige wings. She would not betray her comrades. A gentle claw on her shoulder stopped her from leaping off the roof of the jailhouse. The golden gargress's head whipped around and she snarled at the calm eyes he gave her. "Rose, this battle is won. We will not be the victors."<p>

"There is room for victory if _we_ strike _now_!" She argued desperately.

"No. For us to launch an attack now is suicide," he took her claw in his, "there is a simple honor in surrender."

The red dissipated, but the fury still remained strong behind her eyes. She watched the killing and fighting from her perch on the rooftop. Cobblestone was right: this battle had already been decided long before they had woke. Her brow furrowed as she watched an unusual scuffle below. A couple soldiers were fighting some strange—was it a creature? Her face lit up. She had thought that she and Cobblestone were the last ones, but here before her was a gargoyle beast; hope was not lost! She was quick to point the beast out to Cobblestone. His first instinct upon seeing the beast was to look for its owner in the sky—and he found two figures approaching for a landing. He could not say that he was pleased to see them for he knew they were not fighting for the Union, but neither could he confirm that they were fighting for the Confederates. "Away from the ledge. It appears we have company; mind your manners, my dear."

Rose crossed her arms. Whoever it was they could leave; they were not welcome and Rose intended to make that perfectly clear. She watched two gargoyles land atop the roof. Cobblestone greeted them, "A good eve if I do say so myself—I could do without the gunshots and screaming, though. What brings you here tonight, Strangers?"

The red beaked gargoyle spoke first, "Actually, we heard there were some gargoyles fighting in the war—that's why we're here."

Cobblestone recognized the gargoyle's New York accent. If these two were here to aid, then perhaps the night was not lost. The grey gargoyle gave a curt nod. "Well, it appears you were not mistaken. The Union would welcome two more fine warriors."

Silence hung between them for a moment and Rose could not help but give a light growl. "If you have not come here to join us, then you have come here to die!"

Cobblestone grabbed her arm before she had a chance to act on her words. Rose found herself calmed by his touch and sought to atone for her temper. Cobblestone had been with her long enough to know just when to stop her from acting on her rash impulses. "There has been enough death among our side," he added, "and theirs."

The Union female sighed, "My sincere apologies, Strangers. The war has brought with it many things I regret."

"Even under such circumstances as these I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Cobblestone," he extended a claw to the beaked one.

Brooklyn clasped arms with the gargoyle whose silver hair dared to match his own. "Brooklyn."

Cobblestone chuckled at the sight of the gargoyle beast who joined their group from the ledge. It was obvious the beast had scaled the jailhouse walls. "And your friends?"

"Thorn and Fu-dog." Brooklyn said with a smile.

Rose rested a claw on one of her spiked hips. "My name is Rose," she paused a moment, "I do wonder what intentions you hold for us now."

She was specifically speaking to the white gargress, though the statement seemed open enough. Memories came pouring into Thorn's mind—memories that had been locked inside her decades ago. It was clear to her now who stood opposite her. In her mind, Thorn could see them—two hatchlings playing in the cotton fields under the watchful eyes of Jaboli. She felt the cool of the summer moon and smelled the flowers of the humid breeze—and then she was returned to the present. Her sister, who had always been the warm free spirit was now cold and constrained by the Union uniform she wore. War had changed her sister—though Thorn supposed it had changed herself, too. She took a step toward the golden gargress, "Can it be? It is you? My rookery sister?"

"It is difficult to say for sure—we _may _be sisters, but we are _not_ allies."

Thorn was hurt by the words of her sister—for she knew now that this gargress was, indeed, her rookery had been so kind as to bring the two of them together once again, but now—even so close—they were still so distant from one another. She would not allow herself to be separated from her sister yet again; if that meant betraying the Confederates, then so be it.

"Well," Cobblestone sighed, "under the terms of war, I suppose we are now your prisoners."

Brooklyn shrugged, "I guess so."

Rose sneered at the beaked gargoyle. "And where exactly will you be taking us?"

"Uh, General Forrest wanted a word with you, first."

"Already here, Brooklyn," The general said from behind Cobblestone, "well done."

Cobblestone nodded his head with his bull-like horns in greeting at the Confederate general and his soldier companion. "Allow me to formally introduce myself, I am Brigade General Nathan Bedford Forrest of the Confederate cavalry division."

"We know who you are: you are a monster and a _Devil_!" Rose spat.

He stroked his beard and commented to his companion, "Hmm, the _Devil_ Forrest? _Ooh_, I like that—write that down for later."

Thorn watched the humans warily. She didn't trust them—not even Amérgin who was cowarding behind the general. Forrest spoke again, "I have no intentions of imprisoning you—technically you don't even exist. Besides, I doubt humans would be _kind_ to your species—we are rarely kind to our own. No, it is better you remain a secret, I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining you to my superior."

"What about him?" Cobblestone motioned toward the young man beside the general.

Forrest looked to his companion, "Now, Dugan, did you see any monsters in that fight?"

"No, Sir. It was as you said—the only monsters on that field were the ones in our own hearts."

"And of the railroads? Who tore those up?"

"A few radical soldiers, Sir."

"Ah! See there? It was all just rumors." The general was very pleased with the boy's responses.

He took another step toward the northern gargoyles and extended his hand to them as a gesture of peace. Forrest did not know how many of these creatures existed, but he would not make war with them when he knew they would be of much better use as allies than enemies. "As I understand it, your race does not often take sides in human affairs. It would be unfair for me to ask you to fight alongside the Confederacy beyond this night, but it is unfair to the Confederacy to _permit_ you to fight alongside the Union. I do not take _gargoyles_ for prisoners," He rested his opposite hand on the sabre at his side, "I ask only that should you choose to fight—on either side—that you do so away from human eyes."

The grey gargoyle accepted the general's words. He took the general's hand into his claw and they shook on it. The general smiled and turned to face Amérgin, "Well, now that that's settled I will be returning to the men before the _"radical soldiers"_ rip up any more tracks. Join me when you are finished here, Dugan."

There was silence between the human and the five gargoyles—none of them knew what to say to each other. Eventually, Amérgin was able to squeak out a question, "So, what will you do now?"

Thorn stepped beside her sister, "I will be staying with Rose. Too long this war has separated us."

This earned her a warm smile from the golden gargress. Amérgin nodded; he understood the longing of wanting to be with one's family—but his was so very far away. The young man did, however, look forward to starting his own family in America. He addressed the white gargress, "Thorn, I know Finnchoem asked you to protect me, but the battlefield is no place for a lady—not even a lady gargoyle. Go home; tell my fiancée not to worry and that I'll return safely when this war is finally over."

"How do you know you'll last through all the fighting?"

He gave her a witty smile, "I'm Irish."

Thorn wasn't even given a chance to protest before the boy disappeared into the building. She called after him, but Cobblestone grabbed her arm. "We must leave before they burn the building to the ground."

An expression of disbelief befell Brooklyn's face. The Confederates wouldn't do that—would they? He could feel the jailhouse begin to sway beneath him; he supposed that had answered his question. Quickly the four gargoyles caught an updraft and took to the sky, Brooklyn carrying the wingless Fu-dog. The night was still young and they had all been done a mighty favor by the cavalry general. Thorn, who was still unused to her wings, struggled keeping herself stable.

"Would you like an escort to this—Lady Finnchoem's?" Cobblestone offered.

"The journey would be long—it's an entire night's travel by even the best carriage just to get there by morn."

Rose laughed, "Then it will make for an easy travel from the sky."

"Okay, I am _not_ carrying Fu-dog all that way," the beast whimpered in response to his master's strained voice, "Sorry, pal."

Cobblestone smiled, affectionately taking the claw of the sunshine gargress in his own. "We will take turns carrying the beast."

The night would serve to give them little trouble in reaching their destination—aside from Thorn's occasional free falls. By the time they reached the mansion Cobblestone had taken his turn with the beast and Rose was now carrying Fu-dog with little trouble. Naught but half a night had passed when the Roaugh plantation came into view. Suddenly a wild barrage of doubtful thoughts occurred to Thorn and she no longer felt that returning here was such a good idea. "Wait, this is wrong. We can't be here—_I_ can't be here! The Mistress—"

Cobblestone's eyes glowed a bright yellow. Thorn was property to these people just like the hard-working hands they had out in their large cotton field—it was _outrageous_. He could understand now why she would be having second thoughts on her return to this place. A few gentle words from Rose and he was able to calm his fury. His eyes dimmed and he could now think clearly on what must be done. They were closing in on the mansion now, and if they were not careful, they would be spotted. "To the fields. We'll land there."

The others had successfully landed in the field, but Thorn could not seem to get her landing just right. It had been easier when Brooklyn had helped her back at the Confederate camps, but she was receiving no such help now. Her friends gave her a few words of encouragement and she took the plunge. Fortunately she was not injured due to Brooklyn having caught her fall. Thorn gave him her thanks, still embarrassed she had failed to learn the art of gliding before now.

What was to follow would determine what they would do now. Cobblestone openly admitted that he fully intended to return to the aid of the Union, but he also understood if Rose wished to stay with her rookery sister. "You have spent decades apart because of this," he gestured toward the ornate mansion, "I would not want to prolong this separation."

"Do not say such things. I, too, support the Union's cause. I belong on their side."

"No, you belong with Thorn. Do not let the war divide your family," she could see the sadness in his eyes as he spoke, "I would give much to have mine again."

Brooklyn felt a twinge of pain in his chest with the knowledge that he may never get to see his again either. Often he felt homesick—not for Scotland, or Castle Wyvern, or even for Manhattan—but for his clan; for his family. He sighed, wondering if the phoenix would ever release its claim on him.

A sharp voice rose from between the rows of cotton, "Why it's th' Lady Rose! Chil' I always knew you would fin' yo' way home!"

Jaboli smiled tiredly at the gargoyles in the field. Thorn and Rose each gave the dark-skinned woman a hug. "What are you doing out here, Jaboli?" Thorn asked, surprised to see her caretaker.

"Well, I tell ya, Mis'ress Finnchoem says I be a freed woman. Woul'nt say why, but I ain't gon complain none. Though I don' have nowhere to go! Ain't lived nowhere but th' ol' mansion. So I been sleepin' out here. I like to fall asleep watchin' them stars. Used to have mah chilluns to watch at night," she gave the two gargesses a wide grin, "And now mah chilluns come back to watch me, ain't that a hoot?"

She asked to be introduced to the two strong fellows, to which Rose complied. When she introduced Brooklyn and Fu-dog no one was expecting the reaction she gave them. "iYou/i! I 'member you an' yo' friend wit th' wil' hair," she said pointing to Fu-dog, "Didn' know nuthin' 'bout no gargoyles 'til iyou/i showed up. Taught them all you tol' me to, protectin' an' rookeries an' everythin'! I think I dun right by you."

The old woman seemed rather proud of her achievement, obviously referring to how she had managed to raise the two gargoyle females without much knowledge of the gargoyle race. Brooklyn scratched his head, unsure what to say. "Sorry, but I—"

"I know, I know. You said you woul'nt rec'nize me none, but that don' matter. I know you. And I know you iwill/i 'member me like I 'member you."

"If you say so," he supposed that meant he would meet her in the future—he could only hope it was the inear/i future.

Fu-dog began to whimper and Brooklyn looked into the sky, seeing a great ball of flame begin to form. Jaboli followed his eyes and stared at the fire in awe. "Look at that. Them fallin' stars sure is beautiful. Only ever seen one other like it."

"Uh-oh," the words fell from Brooklyn's mouth without much thought.

Thorn, panicked, looked at him, "Uh-oh? What's uh-oh?"

"It's coming for me," he clarified.

Cobblestone perked a brow, mildly confused by Brooklyn's response, "Coming for you? Why would it be coming for you?"

Brooklyn looked around, hoping there was a tree or something where he could get some air, but nowhere in the immediate area was there anything to get him off the ground. From experience he knew that anyone that got too close to him would get sucked into the gate with him. "It's the phoenix gate—it's a time-traveling device," Brooklyn wasn't even sure that his explanation was helping.

"Time-traveling device?" Rose asked.

Brooklyn felt rushed and frustrated with the questions, "Is there an echo in this field? Yes, time-traveling device! I accidentally activated it and now I can't get home!"

"Are you from the future?"

"Who wins the war?"

"Are there other gargoyles where you come from?"

Brooklyn understood their curiosity—he had experienced it himself when Goliath had returned from Avalon with Angela. He watched the ball of fire begin its descent upon them from high above. "I am from the future, I can't tell you who wins the war. I can only tell you that, yes, the war does end and gargoyles will survive. I'm proof of that."

Thorn could see the ball of light get closer. "I want to go with you!"

"You should stay here, in your own time. It's better that way."

"What have I to look forward to here? There's so much I want to learn about myself—my heritage as a gargoyle! Please!"

He sighed. Brooklyn supposed he really didn't have much of a choice—he just couldn't turn down such sparkling eyes. He turned to face the other two gargoyles. "What about you two?"

"My duty is here," he turned to Rose and rested a claw on each of her shoulders, "but I am not worth staying for. You should take this opportunity, Rose."

"But—"

"You have only just reunited with Thorn—go."

Often gargoyles showed their affection through a light touch upon the brow, but—having been raised among humans—Rose would not understand this. Although it was not customary, Cobblestone gave the gargress a single parting kiss to remember him by as it was likely she would not return. He could hear Brooklyn calling for Cobblestone and Jaboli to get back if they didn't plan on getting sucked up into the phoenix flame.

Rose changed her mind. She didn't want to go—she couldn't leave Cobblestone or abandon the Union! Cobblestone broke away from her, grabbing Jaboli and putting some distance between them and the landing zone. He mentally told himself he would help Jaboli find a place to stay now that she had gained her freedom. He watched the flame surround Rose, and—though it pained him to see her struggle to get away from the phoenix—he knew that in the end this was the best thing for her. Then in a flash, the flames and the four gargoyles within it had gone and Cobblestone was left as the only remaining gargoyle.

When his figure disappeared, she knew she had been engulfed by the phoenix flame. Without warning she was thrown onto a sandy lot, and all Rose could do was furiously pound her fist against the sand that absorbed the blows. Her echoing roar was one of sorrow and loss.


End file.
